


Home in Name Only

by bittereloquence



Category: Captain America (2011), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Culture Shock, Gen, Introspection, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittereloquence/pseuds/bittereloquence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve returns to Brooklyn in hopes of finding some trace of the home but Brooklyn has moved on in the past seventy plus years and things are too changed to ever call it home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home in Name Only

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head. 
> 
>  
> 
> Additional Notes: Steve’s religion is Protestant according to both the comics and movies. I’m borrowing from comics and him being of Irish immigrant descent and settled on Episcopalian. I’m not Episcopal and have never been to one of their services so if there are any errors, I apologize deeply. Additionally, the church used in this fic is a real church in Brooklyn Heights and I’ve tried to get my geography as possible, if it’s wonky, just chalk it up to google-fu failure. Thank you as ever to my wonderful beta WyntirRose for the title, encouragement and hand holding not to mention help with ironing out the Anglican/Episcopal stuff.

_Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration._

**—Charles Dickens**

* * *

 They had told him it would be a bad idea to return to his old neighborhood looking for home. But Steve had been unable to resist the temptation to see what his old apartment building looked like these days. The little shoebox of an apartment that Bucky and he had gotten when they turned eighteen had been their first pride and joy. Finally, something they could call their own. But considering they’d been poor kids working the odd job to make ends meet, it definitely hadn’t been Park Avenue.

Back in the thirties, their neighborhood Brooklyn Heights hadn’t been the nicest of neighborhoods but it had been home. And considering he’d been robbed of his homecoming all those years before, Steve decided he deserved one. Thus, his first trip unescorted by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had been to hail a taxi and direct it towards Brooklyn.

Steve’s first real sight of the Brooklyn Bridge after almost seventy years was like a fist to the stomach. After seeing how changed Manhattan had been, he’d almost expected the bridge  to not be there anymore or find it wholly changed like so many things.

Finding his passenger all but plastered to the window of the taxi, the driver shot an amused look over his shoulder. “First time in New York?” He’d been driving taxis for more than a decade and  usually only saw that kind of wonderment on the faces of those who were getting their first taste of the Big Apple.

 “Huh? Oh, no. I grew up here just…been a while since I was home.” Prying his attention away from the window, Steve shot a chagrined smile over at the driver.

 “I gotcha. So, where to, buddy?”

 “One fourteen Clinton in Brooklyn Heights, please,” Steve murmured, gaze being drawn back to the window as they drove over the Brooklyn Bridge. On second inspection he could see some differences and additions but it still lightened his heart to know that the bridge he’d seen most every day in his childhood was still standing.

 “You got it, pal.”

It took them almost twenty minutes in traffic to get to the old brownstone that had once been Steve’s building. Paying the cab driver, the blond man stood on the sidewalk for a moment just staring at what had been his apartment building. The streets and building around him were a strange mixture of old and new. He recognized the building from across the street as the same one that had stood there for a hundred years. 

Yet down the block was a brand new building he didn’t recognize and a lot of the facades were completely different. Even the windows in his old building looked like they’d been changed out sometime in the past seventy plus years.

As Steve watched, a woman leading a small herd of tiny, yapping dogs stepped outside the building and shot the blond man a suspicious look but didn’t challenge him about his gawking outside of her home.

“Ma’am.” He didn’t have a hat to tip but the polite greeting earned him a tense smile from the woman before she gathered up the multitude of canines and urged them down the street.

For a moment, he was tempted to try and gain entry to the building and see if his old apartment was still there  but he decided it would be too rude a violation of the tenants’ privacy and turned to head down the street towards St. Ann church, where he’d once worshiped. The Episcopal church had been a haven to the sickly young man and Steve had become quite close to one of the reverends there who’d only been a decade or so older than he and Bucky.

Logically, he knew the man had no doubt long since passed on but Steve still felt the need to pay his respects to his old church. As he walked down Clinton towards Livingston, Steve was once more struck by how different the whole neighborhood felt. Sure, a lot of the same buildings remained but the spirit of the neighborhood was vastly changed. For one thing, the cars in this area were obviously higher end, a sign that the neighborhood was no longer the rough area it had once been.

When Tony had told him that apartments in his old stomping grounds could go for the multimillions, Steve had nearly had a heart attack. The super soldier was  _still_  trying to get used to the inflation and cost of living increases. And try though he may to adapt, it scandalized Steve to pay five dollars for a cup of coffee, considering it had been running around a nickel the last time he’d been back in the States. To say that the blond still suffered from sticker shock most every day was an understatement.

Apparently due to its proximity to Manhattan, Brooklyn had become a lucrative area to live in. And to think, a hundred years ago it had been filled with racial tension and immigrants eking out an existence. The world kept spinning without him it seemed.

As he approached the church, Steve was  relieved to see St. Ann’s still stood where it had for over a hundred and fifty years. The gothic structure had inspired him more than once when he’d been growing up and amongst the things that had been kept in storage for him for more than seventy years had been some of his old sketches. Including one of St. Ann’s that had been drawn when Steve had been truly homesick in France.

Sunlight glinted off the high, arched windows and was so dazzling to Steve’s eyes that he had to look away and at the solid stonework below. Glancing at his wrist watch, Steve realized he might actually make it for the end of Sunday service. At least he would if the services still started at the same time these days.

Quickening his pace, he jogged up the steps of the church and reached for the door but found it locked and unmovable. Puzzled, he tried the pull for the other door but found it the same way.

“Odd,” he muttered to himself and walked back down the steps to approach the side door only to find it locked as well. Understandably a little confused and disheartened, he glanced back at his watch to double check he hadn’t read the time wrong but no, it was still eleven forty-five.

Walking back down to street level, Steve flagged down an older gentleman. “Sir, do you know what time Sunday services are for this church?”

The old man looked up at Steve with a puzzled look. “Son, that church has been closed since sixty-nine.”

“I’m sorry? It closed?” His throat felt constricted all of a sudden. Stricken, Steve looked back at St. Ann’s in despair. For one terrible moment, he couldn’t breathe or think as the despair threatened to blind him. It was too much to bear. His life, every aspect of it, seemed to be either cut away from him or changed in such a way that he didn’t recognize it anymore. Was there  _nothing_  for him in this neighborhood, this city, the whole damned  **planet**  anymore?

“Yeah, they moved to the old Trinity church off of Montague.” The words filtered through the pounding of blood in his ears. “Kid? Are you alright?” the older man asked somewhat warily.

“Oh, thank  _God!_ ” The words burst out of him, before he could stop himself. “Sir, thank you so much,” he said in a rush of gratefulness. He clapped the man on the shoulder in thanks without thinking about it. “I gotta go, thank you!”

Before the arthritic man could answer, the blond had turned and was running back up Clinton the way he’d came. Dodging around pedestrians, Steve was only held up as long as it took for the light at Remsden to turn green and he was off again. 

He was intimately familiar with what had once been the Church of the Holy Trinity because that had been the church where he’d been initially baptized at and where his parents had attended almost a century before. The church had contained too many painful memories for Steve afterwards and when he’d been taken in by St. Ann orphanage, he’d switched to worship there instead.

Once he’d crossed Montague and was approaching the church, Steve could hear the faint sounds of the organ playing even through the heavy wooden doors. Slipping inside, he looked around a little guiltily when the usher approached him. The mildly disapproving look wasn’t lost on him and he could only shrug helplessly before accepting the Book of Common Prayer handed out to him.

Steve was unfamiliar with the hymn they were singing so after bowing to the cross, he found a pew in the back. Next, the reverend began the group confessional. Kneeling as directed, Steve bowed his head respectfully and felt a sense of peace steal through him.

God, he could not recall the last time he’d actually attended an Episcopal service. Actually, he did know, it had been the last time he’d been in New York right before he’d shipped out for the USO tour in Europe. He’d visited St. Ann’s one last time. That had probably been the last time he’d felt as peaceful as he did now. Sure, they’d had non-denominational services in the army but the routines and rituals had been different. 

The reverend finished off the confessional and blessed the attendees. When the collection plate was passed to him, the super soldier put nearly all the money he had in his pocket into the plate. It was silly of course, like he could make up for seventy years’ worth of missed tithing and church going?

Still, it made him feel better as he passed it down the pew. When the reverend began communion, he was sorely tempted to go forward but hesitated out of what? Some unspoken sense of guilty conscience or perhaps because he was such a greatly lapsed member of the congregation, who knew? Either way, he remained kneeling on the kneelers until the reverend finished the last prayer and dismissed the congregation. Unwilling to deal with the press of people leaving the church, Steve sat down on the pew and thumbed through the Book of Common Prayer for a few minutes. He was somewhat relieved to find it was the same 1928 edition he’d grown up with. Maybe some things hadn’t changed after all.

“Is there something you needed, son?”

Looking up, Steve spotted the man who’d been leading the Eucharist and smiled a little guiltily. “Sorry, reverend, I was just…lost in thought. Do you want me to clear out?”

“No, take all the time you need. Mind if I sit down? My knees aren’t what they used to be.” The reverend had kind eyes and looked to be in his sixties if Steve were to venture a guess; younger than Steve’s true age but still a lot more frail than the blond.

“Of course, please, sit.” He scooted of a little to make more room for the man who settled himself down onto the wooden pew with a sigh. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

The reverend smiled and accepted Steve’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Father Donovan. We’re about to start serving coffee, you’re welcome to join us?”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

”I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you here before, Steve, are you looking to join our congregation?”

“I was actually a member. A, uh…long time ago,” he admitted wryly, rubbing the back of his neck a little uncomfortably. “I’ve been…overseas for a while.”

Something in Steve’s tone must have rung a little false because the reverend was now looking at the man with a patient sort of understanding. “Do you need to talk to someone, son?”

Emotion choked Steve up again because he’d been pinned with that same look before by another clergyman all those years ago when his mother had finally passed on. “It’s kind of a long, crazy story, Father.”

“Well then, let’s go get some coffee and some cake and we’ll sit down and you can tell me what’s on your mind. Mrs. Johnson provided the coffee cake this week and she cooks like an angel.” The reverend climbed to his feet and smiled down at the shaken looking blond man and held out a hand to him. “You can fill me in on the particulars. Come on, I’ll show you the way.” 


End file.
